


In the Full Furnace of the Hour

by glyphicon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphicon/pseuds/glyphicon
Summary: "I’m so sorry, my dear," Aziraphale says at last. "It’s indelicate of me, but I…" there’s no way for him to ignore Crowley’s heavy scent now, the musk coming off of him that makes Aziraphale want to react. Oh, how he is reacting. "You are, perhaps, equipped?""I’m an alpha, yeah." Crowley takes a deep breath. What must Aziraphale smell like to him? Pure desperation? "I know a few good ones on my end, sure, who might be available. I’ll call --""Crowley," says Aziraphale. He feels as though he will burn out of his skin. Crowley’s willful misunderstanding is too much. "No. You.""Me?"





	In the Full Furnace of the Hour

Aziraphale is not used to suffering bodily ailments, so when the sickness hits him, he is overwhelmed. Light-headed, he almost swoons. Only just manages to get himself over to the bookshop’s sofa. He crawls the last few feet.

What must be a fever washes over him. Has him tight in its grip before he can register the surprise of it. He sweats, burns, works a finger under his tie and tugs it off. He gets a little more air in that way. But the room grows blurry, his mind dizzy.

The phone on the desk is such a distance away. Then Aziraphale remembers that Crowley had insisted on giving him a mobile "to join the modern age." He finds it blessedly stuck between two sofa cushions. He turns it on, and almost weeps with relief when there’s enough battery left for a call. There is only one number programmed in.

Crowley answers on the first ring. "Angel? Didn’t think you ever used this. Welcome to the modern--"

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasps out. "Something’s wrong. I need your assistance."

"Where are you?" Crowley’s tone is instantly serious, instantly ready.

"Bookshop," Aziraphale says. "Please, do come quickly."

He’s delirious, over-hot. He’s read enough books, and tended enough sickbeds, to know that this is a dangerous escalation of symptoms. But he’s never been sick before. He shouldn’t be able to get sick. Wounded, yes, and as easily healed. But try as he might, none of Aziraphale’s grace does a damned thing to alter his condition.

The doors burst open and slam shut behind Crowley not five minutes later. Aziraphale is so glad to see him. He all but whimpers with relief.

Crowley rushes to his side. Drops down beside the sofa. "What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you -- is that a fever?"

"It hit me out of nowhere," says Aziraphale. "I’ve never felt this wretched. What could it be?"

After he seems to consider whether he should, Crowley puts his hand on Aziraphale’s forehead. He snatches it back as if burned. Aziraphale is burning up. 

For a moment, Crowley’s hand on his skin felt like cooling waters. Aziraphale gasps when it is retracted. Reaches for Crowley’s hand to pull it back into place. "Oh, do that again. You feel simply marvelous, my dear."

"Uh," says Crowley. "Huh. If I didn’t know better…"

Aziraphale’s eyes open wide. Crowley sounds distressed. Disbelieving. "What? Is it scarlet fever? Dengue? Some sort of plague?"

"On a human," says Crowley, "these symptoms would indicate a heat. The fever, flushed skin, reaction to, ah. Touch. Seen it many times. But that’s not possible."

"Heat," says Aziraphale. He laughs so loud he must sound unhinged. "No, of course not. That’s for humans. Angels don’t. Six thousand years and I’ve never so much as had a cold, and you suggest a heat!"

"I didn’t," says Crowley. He removes his hand again. "I wouldn’t. It’s just. What it looks like. But it must be something else."

The pressure in his head, and building up everywhere else, is becoming catastrophic. Aziraphale sweats. Tries to think with any last bit of reason before it’s robbed from him. An unnerving realization strikes. "Demons have mating cycles."

Crowley shrugs. Aziraphale isn’t supposed to notice how he shifts uncomfortably. "Sure, that’s one of ours. Lucifer introduced it to humanity after we fell. Said they should share in the affliction. But angels don’t, like you said. You’re exempt."

Aziraphale’s panic, and his red flush, are fast-rising. "But this body," he chokes out. "This body briefly was a demon’s, just last week, when we exchanged forms. You...inhabited me. Perhaps my -- perhaps the body altered with its new occupant, however brief, and now. And now."

"Bloody hell," Crowley swears. "You’re saying I somehow switched on a dormant mating cycle?"

"Yes. Precisely." It’s difficult to breathe. Aziraphale claws fitfully at his jacket and vest, now dense with sweat. "If I’m right about that, it would seem, by this reaction, that I’m an omega."

Total silence. Crowley looks as though he, and not Aziraphale, has been plunged from a frying pan into the fire. He sits down on the floor a full two feet away from the sofa. "Right, well. Fuck. Angel, I’m sorry."

"We knew there might be unforeseen consequences for what we did," says Aziraphale. "This is better than discorpation or destruction. It’s manageable. It’s manageable, isn’t it? Humans deal with it, and demons. I expect I’ll survive." 

Crowley can be seen examining his nails. He won’t look at Aziraphale. "The first heat is the most severe. These days they’ve got all those suppressants, should be able to keep it at bay after this." 

Aziraphale nods. He’s miserable. His mind swims, and his whole body aches. Now that he’s aware of the culprit, he can better locate how the feverish sensation is pooling in his stomach -- and below. It dawns that the slickness between his legs isn’t sweat. He gives an indignant moan. 

How embarrassing. How frightfully weak and exposed he feels. Crowley’s presence is his only comfort, while at the same time another instinct is telling him to quit Crowley’s presence at once. Yet another instinct is urging him to turn over, and bare himself to Crowley. Present himself.

"Good lord," whispers Aziraphale.

Crowley has moved further away from the sofa. He has his mobile in hand. Scrolls through a browser. "Wonders of the modern age," he mutters. "I’ll call a discreet alpha service. The best, of course. Have someone here right quick to, ah. Assist you."

"You’ll do no such thing!" cries Aziraphale. "A perfect stranger? I don’t think so."

Crowley stops scrolling. "Who would you have me call?"

Aziraphale wants to cry. He has some kind human associates, a few alphas amongst them. But no one he’d trust with such a task. Nor can he risk the potential dangers of an angel omega in heat. It is, as far as he knows, unprecedented. And every angel in heaven thinks him a traitor, not that he’d let any one of them touch him with a blessed ten-foot pole.

"I’m so sorry, my dear," Aziraphale says at last. "It’s indelicate of me, but I…" there’s no way for him to ignore Crowley’s heavy scent now, the musk coming off of him that makes Aziraphale want to react. Oh, how he is reacting. "You are, perhaps, equipped?"

"I’m an alpha, yeah." Crowley takes a deep breath. What must Aziraphale smell like to him? Pure desperation? "I know a few good ones on my end, sure, who might be available. I’ll call --"

"Crowley," says Aziraphale. He feels as though he will burn out of his skin. Crowley’s willful misunderstanding is too much. "No. You."

"Me?"

"You."

"Me?"

This would be comical if Aziraphale’s body wasn’t trying to ruin him. He wants to hide his flushed face. He’s red with embarrassment as much as heat. "It’s inconvenient, and presumptuous, I know, do forgive me."

"Me," says Crowley again, a good deal more sharply this time. Then he moves straight back to the sofa. "It could be me, couldn’t it."

It appears to have taken Crowley a moment to work round to it, but Aziraphale is cautiously optimistic. "If you wouldn’t mind terribly."

"No, I--" Crowley bites his lip. Cuts off what he was going to say. "I wouldn’t mind, Aziraphale. I mean that."

"Oh, good," says Aziraphale. "Because I’m quite sure that if you don’t fuck me within the next five to ten minutes, I’m going to discorporate."

"Right, then," says Crowley, like this is an understandable thing for Aziraphale to say. "Should we get you upstairs?"

"I think that would be best," says Aziraphale. "Don’t trust my legs, I’m afraid."

"Easily done." Crowley scoops him up from the couch as though he weighs nothing. He carries Aziraphale to the staircase. He’s been in the flat above the bookshop for the rare nightcap involving the use of the kitchen. He knows which door leads to the bedroom, and he shoulders it open when they get upstairs.

Dizzy, Aziraphale clings to him. Crowley’s arms around him feel wonderful. Strong and capable. He knows powerful pheromones are influencing him, influencing them both no doubt, but he doesn’t much care. His overheated body thrums with the satisfaction of having found such a prime alpha. All he can think of is wanting to please Crowley. He needs Crowley -- what Crowley can give him -- so badly the thought of any more time without him makes Aziraphale grind his teeth.

Crowley lays him on the bed, which usually goes unused. "Oh, angel," Crowley says, his gaze cutting. "You’re far gone, aren’t you. Soaked straight through. We’ll get you more comfortable, promise you that." 

Aziraphale feels his clothes vanish, and through bleary eyes sees that Crowley’s go the same way. Some detached part of his brain is glad to spot that Crowley’s cock is already hard. Even if it’s just the reaction of an alpha to an omega in heat so near, something deeper in Aziraphale flares to know Crowley is aroused by him. Crowley has a gorgeous cock, thick and long. Aziraphale needs it like he’s never needed anything before in his time on Earth or Heaven. 

He turns over and struggles up to his hands and knees on an instinct so old it predates him. His head hangs in shame as he shamelessly offers himself. "Crowley, dear, please."

It doesn’t take much more than that for Crowley to climb up behind him. He runs his hand down Aziraphale’s arched spine. Ends with his fingers dipping into Aziraphale’s tight hole, feeling the slickness there. "So wet for me. Fucking hell." He rubs the head of his cock along Aziraphale’s cleft, and Aziraphale keens. "You say when."

"Now." Aziraphale hopes he doesn’t scream it, but he might’ve screamed. Crowley pushes into him with a hard thrust, just what Aziraphale needs. Aziraphale sobs with relief and begs him to keep going. Crowley does. He holds Aziraphale’s hips in place while he delivers thrust after thrust. Every time he fucks back in, the fever and dizziness die down, and all Aziraphale can feel is Crowley taking him.

The hot spikes of real pleasure surprise him most. Aziraphale is well informed that throughout the course of human history, mating cycles have rarely been aligned with sensuality. Most -- arrangements -- between alphas and omegas were transactions. In the modern day, they were often clinical or casual. There were apps for it now, Crowley’s explained. There were professional alpha services, and omegas on hire as well. There was a whole cottage industry of suppressants, and doctors who specialized in procedures to keep heats at bay. But people were sometimes caught unawares, as Aziraphale was. The results were not generally kind.

Crowley, though. He’s so lucky that it’s Crowley. Crowley is his friend. Wouldn’t harm him. Crowley fucks him hard and fast as Aziraphale craves, with alpha possessiveness, but it’s obvious he’s still aware of Aziraphale as more than an omega to be claimed. 

When Aziraphale groans after Crowley’s cock hits the bundle of nerves in him, Crowley lines up to thrust just like that, to hit just there. Crowley’s hand works Aziraphale’s heated cock through the first of a series of orgasms. Crowley is heavy across Aziraphale’s back as it happens. He keeps saying, "That’s it, that’s right, angel, go on, give me another," as Aziraphale falls apart, over and over. 

The only time he hurts Aziraphale is when Crowley bites him. Crowley’s teeth, which feel fanged, sink into Aziraphale’s shoulder when Crowley’s hips stutter to a stop and Crowley spills in him. But the throb of pain turns to shivery pleasure, as though Aziraphale’s body loves being so thoroughly mastered. The sensation of Crowley’s cock pulsing deep inside him is divine. The worst of Aziraphale’s heat is driven out with every thrust thereafter, as Crowley, still hard, makes Aziraphale come once more for good measure.

Crowley pulls out slowly. Aziraphale collapses down onto the bed. He tries to catch his breath. 

"Angel. Still with me?"

"Mmmm," Aziraphale agrees. Far from being sick, now that he’s been properly claimed, he can feel only the heat, only his craving for Crowley. Not the awful disorienting pressure. He needs more. "Need you again."

Crowley’s laugh is as delicious against his skin as coming. He eases Aziraphale onto his side, fits in behind him. Lifts up Aziraphale’s leg and slides back inside. Aziraphale gasps approval. He puts his head back against Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley fucks him steadily, the driving edge off, but Aziraphale is still desperate for all that he can get. 

"This what you need?" Crowley asks. It’s much more intimate now, with their bodies in full contact. Crowley’s concerted rocking. Crowley’s lips against Aziraphale’s neck. It feels incredible.

"Yes," Aziraphale says. "Oh, yes. Dear boy, I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you."

"None of that." Crowley finds the perfect angle. Aziraphale trembles, appreciative in his arms. "We’ve got a lot more of this ahead. You’ll be sick of me yet."

"How long?"

Crowley mouths behind Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale should wonder at these extra, unnecessary caresses. But he knows that Crowley, for all his protestations, can be sweet, even soft-hearted. He’s doing his best for Aziraphale in a difficult situation. 

"Humans, it’s two or three days. Demons, a bit longer. Don’t think we’ve ever had an angel in heat before," says Crowley with a drawn-out roll of his hips. "So we’ll have to see about that."

Days and days in bed with Crowley. The flushed warmth Aziraphale’s seized by can’t be blamed only on the heat. He worries his lip. "I’m dreadfully sorry to inconvenience you like this for so long."

"It’s a real hardship," Crowley says. Aziraphale can feel the rumble of Crowley’s laughter in his chest. Crowley drapes an arm around him. Gets his hand back on Aziraphale’s cock. "Happy to help, I am." 

Aziraphale comes again, his body clenched tight on Crowley’s cock inside. But Crowley seems able to sense that it’s not enough. 

"More?" he asks. His clever tongue teases Aziraphale’s ear.

"Please," gasps Aziraphale. "Deeper."

"I know just the thing," purrs Crowley. He withdraws, to Aziraphale’s protest, then puts Aziraphale over onto his stomach with a pillow beneath his hips. Crowley lies back on top of him, thrusts in. Aziraphale can’t have him back fast enough.

With nowhere for Aziraphale’s hips to move but to shift back at an angle for Crowley, it is especially deep. Crowley’s cock fills him all the way up.

"Harder, now, if you please," says Aziraphale. The heat in him wants him to say, fuck me, fuck me, claim me, take me, break me. 

"Anything you want," says Crowley. He picks up the pace. Slams into Aziraphale. His hands find Aziraphale’s wrists, and he presses them into the mattress. The trapping of his wrists feels good. He’s ceded control over to Crowley for this bout, and the heat likes that.

Crowley’s deep thrusts grind Aziraphale into the mattress until Aziraphale cries out and comes again, hands still immobile. 

"More," Aziraphale moans. Crowley fucks him with building roughness, as Aziraphale pleads for him to do it. He can’t get enough of Crowley, he just can’t. Crowley keeps on going for him, even when the effort must be considerable. At last the latest wave of heat is satisfied enough that he can beg Crowley to come in him once more.

Now it’s Crowley who falls back onto the mattress, breathes fast. Aziraphale shifts over to him, not willing to suffer a loss in contact. Crowley raises a protective arm, and Aziraphale pulls it close around him. Burrows into Crowley’s warmth. He basks in Crowley’s scent and the heady smell of sex. He’s wrung-out, content. The heat isn’t near done, but the strangle grip of it is off his neck. 

Aziraphale knows he’s not quite thinking straight or perhaps in his right mind. Crowley’s seed and his own slick slides messy down his thighs, and he doesn’t want it gone. He wants it there to demonstrate he’s satisfied his alpha. It’s awfully retrograde, but Aziraphale doesn’t much care. 

"Have I pleased you?" Aziraphale’s horrified to vocalize it, but he’s not in control of his instincts.

Crowley strokes his hair. That feels too good. Aziraphale pushes against his hand. "Of course you have." Stroke, stroke. "You’re beautiful, angel. Earth’s never seen an omega like you before. Can’t believe I’m the one to have you."

Aziraphale’s heart speeds happily. "I’m glad it’s you, Crowley."

Crowley’s hand falters before it resumes petting. "Really."

"Oh, my, yes," says Aziraphale. He snuggles closer. "You’ve been so very good to me."

"We’ll see how you feel about that when the heat is off," Crowley says. "Some people, they’re not keen to see their first alpha ever again."

He sounds distracted by the prospect. Aziraphale assures him, "That won’t be the case. I begged this of you."

"Yeah, well." Crowley clears his throat. "Rest, if your body will let you. We’ve a long ways to go."

Aziraphale is safe tucked in against Crowley. Though he rarely sleeps, he feels it steal over him. As instructed, he doesn’t fight it. Closes heavy eyes. But all too soon he’s shocked awake by a burst of heat, and spinning need. A whine catches in his throat. Sweat beads his forehead.

"I’m here, angel. It’s alright." Crowley is there indeed, his powerful body ready. "What should I --"

"In me," gasps Aziraphale. He spreads his legs, helpless, wanton. "In me, in me."

Crowley moves on top of him. He feels between Aziraphale’s legs. Hisses at the pooled wetness. "Turn you over?"

"No, no," says Aziraphale. "Just like this." He pushes up with his lower body. Insists. 

"If that’s what you want." Crowley has his hard cock in hand. He lets Aziraphale’s hole feel the heavy promise of it. Aziraphale whimpers, squirms for more. Crowley gives it to him, bottoms out in a single thrust. He lowers down over Aziraphale, his weight on his hands.

This is the first time Aziraphale has seen Crowley’s face while Crowley fucks him. There’s a tense concentration there that’s new, and a fearsome possessiveness that as an alpha he likely can’t help. Alphas are notoriously territorial when their promised omega is in heat. Countless acts of violence have broken out over warring alphas and unclaimed omegas over the years. But even that was not as terrible as what could happen to an omega in heat who displeased their alpha, left abandoned by them. 

Aziraphale shudders at the thought. He isn’t thinking clearly, not at all. "You wouldn’t -- you wouldn’t ever leave me like this, would you. Say you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t let someone else have me!"

Crowley’s answering growl is loud. Emphatic. He fucks into Aziraphale deep as he can. Holds his cock there. "No." He bares his teeth and shows snake’s fangs. "Never. You’re mine, Aziraphale."

"Yours," Aziraphale sighs, relieved. Deliriously happy. "Yours," he keeps on saying, as Crowley starts up a punishing rhythm of thrusts to prove it. "Yes, my darling, yours."

He comes the hardest yet with Crowley driving into him and growling into his neck. It’s still not enough.

"Let me suck your cock," Aziraphale pleads. 

"Angel," Crowley hisses. He’s close.

"Come in my mouth. I must taste you. I must." Aziraphale needs it so badly. His eyes fill up with tears. His mouth waters.

Crowley grins wickedly. "If it’s my cock in your mouth you need, that’s what you’ll get." He pulls out, cock shiny and leaking. He crawls up Aziraphale, grips the headboard for balance. He uses his free hand to feed his cock into Aziraphale’s waiting mouth. 

Aziraphale closes his eyes at the heavenly flavor. Crowley tastes of his seed and Aziraphale’s own juices. His cock is large and stretches Aziraphale’s throat in the most delightful fashion. Aziraphale sucks at him, and licks, as Crowley gives back shallow thrusts. All too quickly, he groans and spills in Aziraphale’s mouth. But at least Aziraphale gets his reward. The scrumptious mouthful of Crowley that he swallows breaks his fever. Leaves his body feeling like he’s done right. Surely he’s pleased Crowley as much as himself. 

"Satan. Someone," Crowley exclaims as he watches this happen. "Not gonna get used to the sight of that anytime soon."

"Oh, I think you might," sing-songs Aziraphale. He licks his lips. 

Crowley shakes his head. But Aziraphale sees that he’s smiling. Crowley seems unsteady as he sits back down on the bed. "Alright then, angel?"

"For now," says Aziraphale. He wiggles in satisfaction. "You take such good care of me, Crowley. You feel so good. Taste so good."

"Do I." Crowley lies on his back beside Aziraphale. Then he lifts his head. Looks thoughtful. "Now you’ve gone and gotten me curious."

Aziraphale’s thighs fall open for him on instinct. Crowley doesn’t even have to touch him. Then touch him he does. Crowley gives him three fingers slid far into Aziraphale. At the same time he bends over. Takes Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth. Aziraphale has just come god knows how many times, and for that brief moment, he’s soft. Crowley’s mouth is so much. He cries out. But he would let Crowley do anything to him. Anything.

Crowley raises his head at the cry. "That’ll wait, then," he says. "But here you still need me." His fingers push into Aziraphale, brilliant. Aziraphale gasps for another. Instead, Crowley moves back until his tongue can join his fingers. Soon he pulls his fingers out and it’s only his tongue. His mouth. His strong hands come under Aziraphale’s thighs. Lift him up. Spread him open. Crowley eats him out for what seems like hours. It’s hours. Aziraphale comes again and again. He sobs, but it’s because the pleasure won’t stop, not the pain. He twists fitful on the sheets.

"Crowley. Lord in Heaven." Aziraphale whines. "If you don’t fuck me again soon, I’ll die."

"You won’t," says Crowley. His cheeks glisten, his mouth that smiles. But it seems he will always indulge Aziraphale. He’s back inside him the next thing Aziraphale knows. He hauls Aziraphale’s legs up over his shoulders. Fucks Aziraphale bent in half, pounds into him without mercy. Aziraphale begs him for every thrust, for his come, to never stop, Crowley feels so good.

They lie side by side after, but only briefly. Crowley keeps one arm around Aziraphale, like at any time his claim may be questioned. The irrational mood seems to be on him now. He’s all charged up after his hard work, the pheromones thick in the air. Soon Crowley rolls over back on top of him. He bites and mouths and sucks at Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale moans for him, turns his head to give Crowley full access.

"Mine," Crowley tells him. "Mine. My angel." He sucks a bruise into Aziraphale’s skin. It hurts in the best way.

"Yours," Aziraphale readily agrees. "Oh Crowley, yes, claim more of me." Crowley does. Aziraphale’s whole body becomes covered with calculated bites and bruises sucked with his mouth. Aziraphale twines his fingers in Crowley’s hair whenever he wants to keep him in place for a darker bruise.

At some point they rest again. Aziraphale wants no food. No water. No wine. Nothing but Crowley. A human could never endure this. But Crowley is a demon. His cock is always hard for Aziraphale. His mouth always ready. He never complains, never questions. Not until the fourth day.

"Say again," says Crowley. 

Aziraphale rides him slowly as he repeats the request. "Force me, I said."

"That’s what I thought you said." Crowley traces a collection of blood-bruises on Aziraphale’s hip. Looks up at him, eyebrow lifted.

"Not really, of course," says Aziraphale, hand wrapped around his cock. He gets more excited about the idea. Moves faster. "Like a game. You’d stop if I said so." He comes across Crowley’s stomach as he thinks about it. 

"Go on," says Crowley. 

Aziraphale climbs off of Crowley’s cock. Moves down the bed over his body. Licks at Crowley’s cock. Has learned this is the way to persuade Crowley of anything. "You recall. That heinous Viking tradition they had, way back when?"

"The mating chase?" Crowley lifts eyebrows. But his eyes are on Aziraphale’s tongue on his cock.

"Yes. It was most barbaric." Aziraphale bats his eyelashes. Sucks Crowley’s cock into his mouth.

"So you want me to...oh, angel...pursue you, catch you, and forcibly mate you?"

Aziraphale nods as much as he can. Moans around Crowley’s cock until the vibration of that alone makes Crowley come. He licks up every drop. 

"Anything you like," says Crowley. He crooks his fingers, and Aziraphale crawls back up the bed to him. "I won’t hurt you, though. You say stop, and we stop."

They agree on a safeword. Aziraphale already knows he won’t use it. It is the instinct of some omegas to run when they are in heat, especially when their prospective alpha is unsavory to them. The Vikings had codified this into ritual. An eligible omega was given time to flee, before they were pursued by a group of alphas. The winning alpha usually claimed them at once, in the open, regardless of the omega’s feelings on the matter. It was pure barbarism, and Aziraphale had always hated witnessing the practice. Now he begs it of Crowley. His luck in having an alpha who indulges him in unbounded.

They rest awhile after hashing out the details. Crowley pets Aziraphale’s hair, his arms around Aziraphale. He’s taken to keeping Aziraphale close, even when they’re not fucking. Aziraphale can’t get enough of the contact either. He knows that it’s a hormonal instinct, to keep him placated now that he’s been claimed. But Crowley feels so good that the reasons why don’t matter.

Later they try Aziraphale’s request. Crowley gives him five minutes’ advance. Aziraphale bolts out of the bed. Flees downstairs. Crowley had needed to carry him up the stairs, but now he feels strong and quick. He can’t leave the bookshop. So he does some frantic laps through it. Looks for the best place to hide. His heart pounds.

He ends up with his back against the end of an aisle. He’s concealed from sight, if Crowley should happen to look down it. He hears Crowley follow.

Crowley prowls about the main room. "It’s no use trying to hide, little angel. I can smell you, and how badly you need it. Come out before I get angry."

The command from his alpha is nearly enough. But Aziraphale holds his breath, shifts further into the shadows. He’s worked up his own body enough that he doesn’t know whether he should try and fight or flee.

"There’s no one here who will save you," Crowley calls, with a malicious edge. God, he’s just perfect, gives Aziraphale all that he asks for. Aziraphale can hear him moving through the store. Walking the aisles one by one. "I’m going to find you, and make you mine. If you come out now, I promise I’ll be nice."

He’s too close. He’s coming closer. Aziraphale steals away, dashes to the end of the next aisle. Adrenaline courses through his veins.

"Bad idea, running," says Crowley. "Now I’m angry, and I won’t be so nice."

He’s not safe here. He’s not safe anywhere. Across the store he can hear Crowley say, "Maybe I’ll take you down to Hell with me and put on a show. Not a one of them there wouldn’t like to see an angel on his knees. Put in his proper place."

Aziraphale gapes. No matter that it’s an act. The idea of Crowley fucking him before a crowd of jeering demons makes him turn red. Then all of a sudden Crowley is there, looming above him. He’d thrown his voice to make it seem he was further away.

"No!" Aziraphale squeaks. He shoves past Crowley. Tries to run. He makes it almost across the shop before Crowley grabs him from behind. "No, please! Let me go!"

"Not for anything." Crowley‘s expression looks dangerous. Intent. Aziraphale struggles. Really struggles. Tries kicking, scratching, biting. But Crowley overpowers him, subdues him easily enough. He gets Aziraphale’s arms twisted around behind him. Drags him that way into the backroom.

"Diabolical fiend," Aziraphale spits. "Don’t touch me!"

"Intend to do a lot more than just touch," Crowley leers. His cock is hard, a strained threat. Aziraphale wants him so badly, he almost calls the whole thing off. But it’s too good to end. "Look at you. You’re dripping. You need an alpha, little angel, and it’s going to be me."

"No, no!" Aziraphale tries to break free once more. Crowley holds Aziraphale’s wrists trapped at the small of his back. He shoves Aziraphale forward, toward the desk. "You can’t!"

Crowley bends him over the desk, wrists still caught. He puts a knee between Aziraphale’s legs to knock them apart. His strength feels overwhelming. None of Aziraphale’s struggling makes any difference. "Can. Will."

Crowley enters him all at once. No preamble. He thrusts in like Aziraphale is a conquest, a prize. His strokes are brutal, claiming. Aziraphale goes limp against the desk. He can do no more than simply take it, his mouth open as Crowley fucks him hard and punishing. It’s so good and so wrong. Aziraphale listens to the rhythmic creak of the wood beneath his ear. Hears his own groans. His pleas for Crowley to stop, to have mercy. But he doesn’t use their safeword, so Crowley just fucks him that much harder. Aziraphale comes without being touched. Crowley laughs low and cruel. 

"Now that you’re mine, we’ll start every heat just like this. I like it when you fight me," Crowley says. "Next time, I’ll even give you more of a head start."

Aziraphale shuts his eyes. It’s all part of the act, of course. Suppressants mean he need never go into heat again after this. He won’t be Crowley’s. Tears start in his eyes that have little to do with the rough fucking.

Crowley comes with a contented groan deep inside of him. Only then does he release Aziraphale’s wrists. Aziraphale stays right where he is, bent over, legs shaking.

"Enough of that, I think," says Crowley. He puts now-gentle hands on Aziraphale, and lifts him up into his arms. "Come on, angel, to bed with you."

Upstairs Crowley is beyond gentle. He pets and soothes Aziraphale, tells him how good he was, how much Crowley enjoyed him. How beautiful he is, how soft and yielding. He has Aziraphale curl up against him. Aziraphale rubs his cheek into Crowley’s chest, wants all of Crowley’s scent all over.

"I appreciate you indulging me," says Aziraphale.

"Shh," says Crowley. He strokes Aziraphale’s hair. "Rest. It can’t be long now. You’re thinking much more clearly than you were before."

It’s true. On the fifth day, the heat has faded to the point where Aziraphale feels it like a distant hum, instead of constant screaming. They might not even need to ride it out together today. Aziraphale still pulls Crowley over him. Spreads his legs for Crowley’s cock, so eager for it. He rolls his hips up for every thrust. He surprises them both when he kisses Crowley’s mouth. But they’ve done so much by now, it feels silly not to kiss. And it feels so very good to kiss Crowley.

Afterward they lie all tangled up. Crowley is unnaturally quiet.

"Almost over, I believe," says Aziraphale. 

"Suppose so," says Crowley.

"I really can’t thank you --"

"Just don’t," says Crowley.

Aziraphale nods. Goes silent. It seems that for the rest of the day, their actions are part heat, and part already a sort of nostalgia. This is the last time I’ll ever do this, he thinks, with Crowley’s cock in his mouth. This is the last time I’ll know what it’s like to have that tongue of his inside me.

They’re starting to avoid eye contact, even when Crowley is inside of him. That night, when they come together, gasping into each other’s mouths, Aziraphale knows that it is the very last time. The heat is drained away. When Crowley pulls out of him, he feels empty.

The next day he can’t reach for Crowley. It’s his first thought when he wakes up, that he should. Then comes relief that his mind is his own again. He can think, and not have that hijacked by any deeper instinct.

Crowley is already awake. Aziraphale wonders how long he’s been lying like that. Crowley looks at him, and Aziraphale is suddenly too aware of his own nakedness. He grabs the sheet and pulls it over himself. The modesty is absurd, considering what they’ve done, but he can’t help it.

"Oh, ah," says Aziraphale. "I think I am quite well now."

"Good." Crowley gets out of the bed. He’s dressed before he’s even standing. "Glad to hear it."

"I, ah," says Aziraphale. He wants to pull the sheet over his head, he’s so embarrassed. 

"I expect you’d like time alone," Crowley says. He’s backing up to the door. Nearly hits it. "Give me a ring if you want to grab lunch at some point."

"My dear, wait --"

But Crowley is already gone. Aziraphale stares after him. It takes all his willpower not to cry. It’s not that he expected Crowley to stay. But he thought maybe they might talk about it. Be reassured that their friendship was secure. The heat was just about biology. Surely six thousand years of friendship could survive five days in bed. Yet it seemed that Crowley couldn’t get away fast enough. 

Aziraphale misses him then something fierce, and throughout the rest of the day. It’s hard to look at the bedroom, and also most surfaces in the bookshop, without seeing a place where Crowley had him. Outrageous, how they’d carried on. So he takes himself out, first to a lonely lunch, then the cinema. It’s almost unendurable. He stays that night in a boutique hotel in Soho. He’s afraid to go back to the bookshop. 

Eventually he goes back. Life tries to return to normal. He has customers at the shop. He chases the customers away empty-handed. He eats, and he reads. He drinks wine alone. 

Crowley’s absence is like a wound that begins to fester. Aziraphale does not sleep, but he thinks that if he did, he would dream of the heat and Crowley. Every day, he watches the bruises on his body fade a little bit more. Soon there will be nothing of Crowley saying _mine, my angel_ left. 

Once he is done with sadness, Aziraphale becomes angry. How dare Crowley just walk out, and drop away from his life after that. In every minute of his heat, Crowley had been as attentive as he could be. But maybe that was just biology also. Just alpha instinct. He was a demon, after all. Perhaps he didn’t care. He certainly doesn’t seem to care how much Aziraphale is suffering alone. 

He gets angrier and angrier as the days pass, without so much as a call from Crowley. Then, when he realizes that he has not reached out to Crowley either, he feels guilty. Crowley told him to call for lunch if he wanted to. Crowley left the decision with him. Perhaps he thinks that Aziraphale is the one avoiding him. Crowley can’t read his mind, after all.

He calls Crowley’s home phone, and only gets the answering machine. He calls Crowley’s mobile, but it goes to voicemail after one ring. Switched off, then. Aziraphale frowns.

He finds that he is worried. Could something have happened to Crowley? Heaven and Hell appeared to leave them alone, but for how long? What if Crowley was attacked, and Aziraphale has been twiddling his thumbs and sulking?

Aziraphale is on the street before he knows it, hails a cab. He blurts Crowley’s address. The cab can’t get there fast enough. As each block passes by he’s increasingly convinced something terrible has happened to Crowley. 

He lets himself into Crowley’s building with a few well-placed miracles. He rings Crowley’s bell, pounds on the door. When no one answers, Aziraphale lets himself in there also.

The apartment is mostly dark. He can hear the drone of the television from the den. At the open den door he sighs with profound relief. Crowley is passed out upon the sofa. Still breathing. He doesn’t appear injured. But his face is rough with stubble and his hair unkempt. He wears a faded black t-shirt and black boxer briefs. The floor around the couch is littered with liquor bottles of every sort, most of them empty.

Aziraphale frowns. His relief in finding Crowley is great. But this is excessive, even for Crowley. He kneels next to the sofa. He hasn’t seen Crowley since Crowley left his bed. Aziraphale finds himself studying Crowley’s closed lips, his hands, recalling all that they can do. He looks away, steadies himself, then puts a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. He sobers him all at once, takes away the hangover for good measure.

Crowley’s eyes pop open. He sits up. "Whazzit -- angel? What’s the matter?"

Aziraphale’s heart squeezes. Crowley’s first thought is always for him, isn’t it. He shakes his head.

Crowley follows that with, "What are you doing in my flat?"

"I was worried about you," says Aziraphale. He takes a seat on the sofa after Crowley moves over. He glances around the room. "What’s all this, my dear?"

"I, uh." Crowley shrugs. "Been having some trouble sleeping, is all."

"That’s not like you," says Aziraphale.

"Yeah. Guess that’s right." Crowley seems highly uncomfortable. Won’t look at him. Aziraphale can’t stand it.

"If I’d known what happened would drive such a wedge between us, I’d have called an alpha service," Aziraphale says quietly. "I should never have asked you. I’m very sorry."

"What? No. Don’t say that." Crowley looks demonically territorial then, like he’d rip any other alpha in half over Aziraphale. Aziraphale is ashamed of how much it makes his stomach flip. "I don’t regret it, Aziraphale. Not a moment of it."

"Then why…" Aziraphale picks up an empty whiskey bottle, one of many. "Why this escape?"

Crowley shrugs again. "Wasn’t sure what else to do."

"You could’ve talked to me," says Aziraphale. He conveniently neglects to mention that he could have talked to Crowley, too.

"No," says Crowley. "I’m not sure that I could’ve."

"Crowley, this is ridiculous. Please just tell me what’s gone wrong, and we’ll find a way to solve it."

Crowley sits in silence for so long. Aziraphale begins to think he won’t speak after all. Then he says, "The problem is nothing went wrong. I know you didn’t have a choice, not really, but it was -- good. It was so good, being with you."

"I had a choice," says Aziraphale. He’s breathing fast. "I chose you."

"Got -- used to it, I suppose," Crowley says, hesitant. His expression softens after Aziraphale’s words. "Sharing your bed, I mean. And now I can’t sleep. And I don’t know what to do when I’m awake."

Imagine thinking that Crowley has been callously ignoring him all this time. Instead Crowley appears to be thinking of little else but Aziraphale. Aziraphale touches his hand. "If that’s the case. You could come back to it. If you wanted to."

Crowley blinks. His yellow eyes are red-rimmed, Aziraphale notices. "Back?"

"To my bed," says Aziraphale. Once this conversation would have been impossible for him. But he took Crowley inside his body dozens of times. They did everything with each other, and then they did it again. This is nothing compared to what they’ve shared.

"Not sure you know what you’re saying," says Crowley. "I can’t just...I won’t be able to stay casual about it."

"Is that so," says Aziraphale. He tugs down his shirt collar. A deep-set bruise the exact shape of Crowley’s mouth is still visible on his neck. "Were we terribly casual about it before?"

"The heat…" Crowley looks away.

"The heat was some of it," says Aziraphale. "Not all, surely. Not all, Crowley. Not for me."

"Or me." When Crowley looks back, he looks recognizable again. He looks like Aziraphale’s. "Angel, the number of years I’ve wanted to touch you like that. Can’t count them. It was like...all my dreams came true, and some of my nightmares. I had you, but you weren’t really mine."

"I was," says Aziraphale softly. His hand stays on Crowley’s. "I still am."

He thinks deep down he’s always known how Crowley felt. There was no proper place for it before. But there’s nothing to stop them now, except each other. The difference, Aziraphale considers, is that Crowley never knew how Aziraphale felt in return. 

"The last day of my heat," says Aziraphale, cheeks pink. "I didn’t, ah, require your assistance in the same way. But I still wanted you. And I still. Well. I had you. Several times, if I recall."

Crowley’s head snaps up. "You kissed me."

"Not the heat," says Aziraphale. "That was all me." He looks directly into Crowley’s eyes. "Can I kiss you now?"

"God. Satan. Fuck. Yes." Crowley stares back in wonderment. Aziraphale crawls into his lap. Kisses him, hard and deep. A lot of tongue. No hesitation.

Crowley kisses him back. But there’s hesitation there. Aziraphale pauses, and Crowley says, "There can be -- a residual attachment, to being claimed. I’ve seen it happen. Pheromones keep acting on you. It’s self-preservation. Keep an alpha interested. I can’t help but think --"

"Well, now," says Aziraphale. "Then you must have claimed me a very long time ago."

"Angel." Crowley gives in, defenses crumbling. "_My_ angel."

"Yours," Aziraphale agrees, deliriously happy. "Take me back to bed."

In a feat of strength Crowley gets them both up from the sofa, Aziraphale clasped in his arms. Crowley nuzzles behind his ear. Walks them down the hall.

He lays Aziraphale down on his bed. Takes off their clothes this time the human way. Gets Aziraphale ready for him the human way, tongue and fingers twisting. It feels so different with all of the heat expunged from Aziraphale’s system. It feels that much better. There’s no doubt, no shame. He can feel Crowley all over. Both of them are choosing this. They choose this with every breath, every kiss. When Crowley thrusts into him at last, Aziraphale can’t have enough of him, but for different reasons, reasons they made together. He pulls Crowley close.

"Did you know," says Aziraphale into Crowley’s neck. "I’d never been with anyone before. Before the first time we…"

Crowley’s rhythmic hips stutter. He jerks his head back. He looks shocked. "But -- you might’ve told me. I was far from gentle."

"You were exactly what I needed," Aziraphale insists. "It didn’t seem important at the time. In fact, I’m certain in heat it felt important not to tell you. I didn’t want you to hold back. But Crowley, I was so glad that it was you. I’d always hoped that it would be you."

Crowley recovers. Starts to drive his cock in again, slower now. Lights up Aziraphale from his head to his toes. "I love you, you know."

"Yes," says Aziraphale. He grins, sly. "I love you, too. Now fuck me like you mean it, my dear, or I might need to consider that discreet alpha service the next time I’m in heat."

"The next --?"

"That was far too much fun to even think of suppressing," Aziraphale says. His eyes twinkle. "No, I think I’ll let biology run its course."

"I’ll show you alpha service," growls Crowley. 

He keeps Aziraphale in bed until there is no doubt, none at all, that Aziraphale belongs to him, and that Crowley is his in return.


End file.
